


col legno*

by Gytha_Bagshot



Category: TSV - Fandom, Twosetviolin, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:22:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gytha_Bagshot/pseuds/Gytha_Bagshot
Summary: *'with the wood'A story where Brett finds himself in an old family property in the middle of a forest, very western/European because some stupid author doesn't know what Australian or Chinese forests look like.A story where Eddy chose to pursue his dream and became a lumberjack, because why not (and because, let's be honest, it's kinda hot).A story where prejudice and pride are both an obstacle and a road, where dreams are achieved or crushed, where forests are home.A lumberjack! Eddy au, that I hope you'll enjoy.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	1. Summer cottage

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm Gytha_Bagshot, a French twosetter/LingLing wannabe.
> 
> Obviously english is not my first language, so if you notice some mistakes feel free to point them out, I'm here to learn!  
> This fanfiction was inspired by this video : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0z4GBCQed4 where Eddy says he wanted to become a lumberjack when he was a kid (hehe).
> 
> Hopefully (coz I'm not a good planner lol) there will be 6 (max 7 chapters) here.
> 
> Finally, a classic but usefull warning: Brett and Eddy are their own property (at least I hope so) and this is purely a work of fiction. I ship them for the sake of literature but I actually don't really care what their private life looks like. I just hope they're happy!  
> Thank you for taking the time to read my work, I hope you'll enjoy it!
> 
> Gytha <3

Brett loved his family's summer cottage.

The cute, old-fashioned house was lost deep down in the country and its wood shutters whose red paint was slowly fainting had a bucolic charm. Yes, the wainscotings were outdated and smelt like dust; of course, the attic was full of dormouses and their quick little steps were _really_ annoying at night.

But it was their house. His grandparents used to live here, back then, back when they... when he was a kid. The bees and the daisies kept the garden's atmosphere safe – he recalled imagining hundreds of stories, living thousands of adventures and playing a million ' _happy birthdays'_ on the violin to his relatives here. The woods – always a bit scary and repulsing him with their sickening mushroom smell – still seemed, from time to time, to resonate with the sound of his grandfather's axe chopping down the most majestic Christmas tree they could both find.

So he was thrilled to come back here, after months of mourning and fighting about the crumbs of his elders' inheritance with his dad's siblings. _Fucking uncultured cheapskates, dumb Philistines and self-interested ingrates._

But his dad was here too. And he _definitely_ hadn't brought him back just to clean the house and spend the holydays chilling in the grass, playing violin in the sun or in front of the ancient fireplace. His dad was _not_ like this. He had an agenda. A plan. _An evil plan, for sure. Maybe had he prepared some work for him to do?!_ Brett really hoped it wasn't the case. He was not ready for work this summer. Maybe some practicing – _obviously_ some practicing. He was a dedicated violinist after all, prepared to spend his last semesters in uni before making it to a successful orchestra where, maybe, he could try and become a soloist like he had always wanted.

But no work. No stupid music history or theory, or anything. Just him, the countryside, and his violin, making beautiful music together to entertain the squirrels for two weeks.

It was a wonderful dream, wasn't it?

But it was just a dream.

The day after they arrived, when Mr Yang woke him up with a deafening " _Get up, Brett Yang! It's already 6 a.m. and I need to talk to you!_ ", Brett _knew_ peace was never an option for his beloved father.

***

Their talk was _not_ friendly. Not at all. The young student was aware of his father's views on the music world an its ruthless industry. Every discussion they had about it ended in cries and rage and his mother's tears. _He wasn't backing down, though. Music was his dream. It was his future, his everything, his passion, the reason he was alive. And, hopefully, the reason he could someday pay for a rent and food._

But _this_ took the issue to a whole new level. Honestly, he didn't believe his dad when he first heard him.

"We're not here to relax, son. We're here to teach you the importance of hard work, _real_ work. With your hands. With your muscles. The work that makes you sweat, that makes you tired, and sometimes that makes you cry."

"And what do you think I do when I practice violin?" Brett blurted, dumbstruck by this sudden declaration at such an early hour in the morning.

"It is not a joke, Brett! I'm not talking art. I'm not talking silly little dreams and nice happy songs. I'm talking _real._ I'm talking jobs, and the importance of seizing opportunities. The need of being strong and being able to get by on your own. Like my father taught me, like his father taught him. Like I didn't teach you when you were young, when I should have." He sighed and looked his astounded – and more and more furious – son in the eyes. "But it's not too late. I still think... I still hope I can do something with you. I still hope I can pass down some knowledge, some wisdom to you. Before it's too late."

First, Brett _really_ didn't know how to react. His father's words were so-... it was-... he never should have-... _WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON?_

***

So he lets his rage erupt and the fight that follows is _not_ pretty. A fight he won't win.

_He never wins a fight against his father, after all._

***

Next thing he knew, Brett was wearing green uncomfortable rain boots and a gigantic moth-eaten sweater. He quietly followed his father in the forest, trying to avoid as often as possible the puddles and the holes, fearing he might fall and sprain his ankle – or worst, his wrist! Fortunately, he didn't hurt himself when they had to cross this great stretch of tall grass – like, really tall, he almost couldn't see his fucking boots – mixed with weird purple flowers and, _of course,_ nettles. He complained a lot, though. When they reached the cover of the trees, the weird smell of the woods attacked Brett's sensitive nostrils. A mixture of mushrooms, humus, dry grass, and ... yep, the overpowering smell of the soil after the rain. _What was the word for this, again?_

He really hated this. The dead leaves on the ground, the crickets freely singing in the yellow grass strewn between the trees, the branches rustling above his head, this impression he wasn't alone and a million pairs of eyes were watching him... Brett shivered and tried to pull himself together. He didn't want his father to understand he was actually _scared_. _He really needed to show him he was a_ real _man, an adult, even with his violin, because of his violin._

But it was _not_ easy. As they were walking, he could hear a repeated, regular muffled noise resonating in the distance, getting closer and closer and _god_ did he detest what it was foretelling.

"We're close" his father said soberly. "So remember. You have to behave. You have to work, to work hard. But you also need to stay safe. So I want you to show an absolute obedience to Eddy. If you don't, you'll probably hurt yourself really bad. Chopping wood is not an easy job. It requires technique, knowledge and caution."

He gave Brett an enigmatic gaze before going on: "I wish I was the one to teach you all this, son. I really do. Maybe you would... ugh. Anyway. Let's get there."

Brett, still giving his father the silent treatment, sighed angrily. His _bàba_ was obviously as stubborn as him, and couldn't be talked out of his idea of 'making him spend ten days chopping wood in the forest with some lumberjacks to make him a real man'.

Fuck it. What an awful, outdated idea. And his father's main argument was _"I do it because I love you, son!"_?? Fuck him, fuck everything. Brett was only doing it because he had nowhere else to go – _and because his parents threatened to stop paying for uni if he didn't obey...._ But he wouldn't be making their job easier. Certainly not. This Eddy guy (the son of a family friend or something) who was supposed to 'teach him life' was a boring moron, for sure. 

He was a lumberjack? So he probably never got to ninth grade. Working all day long in a stupid forest probably turned him into a monstrous gigantic half-human-half-bear covered in mud, eating deers alive and smelling all... like the soil after a good rain. _Shit, what do you call it? It has a scientific but also really poetic name, and Brett didn't seem to remember it._

Fuck. Brett really hated forests. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this... Please feel free to post a comment (especially about the writing, I'm not a native english speaker so I welcome any kind of constructive criticism about my grammar and stuff) and like the chapter, it really encourages me to make progress and keep on writing <3


	2. Fall leaves

_Brett definitely hated the forest._

He had no idea where he and his father were. He couldn't tell if their cottage was behind them or on his left, he was certain they had passed the same tree twice and, what was even worse, they had left the reassuring tiny path. His only point of reference was this awful, _awful_ sound: an axe hitting down wood with a regular _bang_ like a devilish metronome, getting closer, and closer, and closer....

And as they were getting closer Brett's imagination went further, some kind of weird terror crafting in his mind a monstrous gigantic man, covered in moss, with giant muscular limbs manoeuvring a stone axe (holding it with four fingers as he was missing his right pinkie). Brett knew it was just his imagination going crazy, but he could not help being actually scared of what his father had prepared for him.

He didn't want to spend days alone with this Eddy guy, a stranger who would agree on everything with his father. He didn't want to spend days with a macho muscular lumberjack whose conversation must revolve around trees, bodybuilding and squirrel turd. _He didn't want to spend days fearing for his hands and missing useful hours of practice with a guy whose bear hand would crush a violin without any regret._

He wanted to think about Shostakovich, Mozart and Schubert. He wanted to spend time with Beethoven and Debussy, discovering and rediscovering their classics and some uncommon work too, he wanted to struggle and wrestle with Bach's sonatas, he wanted to do scales for hours just for the sake of it. But, more than anything, he wanted to sink into Tchaikovsky's violin concerto and let it wash over him and leave him soaked in sweat, exhausted and so, so happy.

He wanted to listen to Sibelius, not the roaring chainsaw which had obviously replaced the axe in Eddy-the-probably-bearded-giant's hands.

However, Brett had no choice but to follow his father's step in the mud, between the trees and what appeared to be, scattered between the wild trunks, very tidy piles of wood. He knew they were approaching and his anxiety grew deeper. It _definitely_ didn't help when his father spoke:

"Remember what I told you? Be nice, polite and disciplined. And be respectful. Eddy may be young, but he's your superior here. He's not your friend."

Brett kept his deadpan expression even if he couldn't help but be intrigued. _Eddy was actually young? How young?_

Well, he was about to know; his dad raised his hand and called: "Eddy, we're here!"

The chainsaw fell silent behind the _big-ass pile of wood (what the fuck? It was probably two and a half meters tall_ ) which hided it.

Brett and his father bypassed it, carefully avoiding a bunch of nettles.

***

And Brett's jaw dropped to the floor.

***

Eddy _was_ young.

Eddy was _Asian_.

Eddy was muscular but slim, taller than Brett but not too much, sweaty but smiley.

But what was worse: Eddy was really attractive.

And _half-naked_.

Brett suddenly felt his cheeks heating up and realised after three seconds that _he_ was waiting for him to shake his hand.

 _Fuck, this must have been the most embarrassed he had been for a very long time_.

"Hi Brett, I'm Eddy, nice to meet you!"

"Hem, sorry, hi! Nice to meet you too."

(Come on Brett, don't make more a fool of yourself than you already did. Look at his eyes, his face, _not his shoulders and chest GODDAMIT_ ).

"Hello, Eddy. Thank you for consenting to take care of my son. I hope he will not bother you and be a good apprentice. Right, Brett?"

( _Don't answer. Don't. He's just trying to humiliate you. Don't say anything._ )

"Oh, I'm sure everything's gonna be okay and we'll become really good friends. We're probably close in age, Brett. How old are you?"

Brett didn't expect Eddy to talk directly to him while his father was basically ignoring his presence.

"Hem... I'm 21."

"Oh, you're older than me, then. I'm 20, but I swear I'm still quite good at my job and I'll try to teach you what I know."

"Thank you for your time and patience, Eddy" Mr Yang intervened. "I need to go. Brett, son.... Be careful. And please show some discipline, for once. Bye Eddy."

And, just like that, he was gone. As if he just didn't humiliate his grown-ass son in front of a young stranger.

_Fuck._

"So, hem... Sorry for this." Said Eddy awkwardly. "Your father seems to be kinda demanding."

"Yeah. He's a pain in the ass." Brett blurted.

Eddy laughed, and all the tension that burdened him seemed to fly away like a flock of birds.

"He seems to think that I'm not enough of a guy and that chopping some wood in a forest will like... man me up. As if... Anyway."

Brett wasn't sure he could talk about his personal problems like this to a guy he just met. Sure, Eddy seemed friendly and nice, but he was still paid by his father.

"You know what, Brett? I think he was a bit disappointed when he saw me for the first time last week. My mother told him I was basically a frickin' giant, but she's very tiny." Eddy answered with a reassuring smile. He was obviously disappointed when Brett didn't mirror it.

(He was starting to feel bad, honestly. Eddy seemed to try really hard to make him feel better.)

The tall boy (yeah, he was definitely a boy, too young to be a _man_ ) clapped his hands together.

"Alright. I'm gonna be honest with you: I feel weird about this thing: you're older than me and you obviously would rather be anywhere else than in a forest with a weird young adult whose passion is ' _trees, their name, their life and how to kill them'_. But my mom _really_ wants me to do this thing and and your dad _really_ want you to do it too, so I don't know-..."

And finally, _finally_ , Brett smiled.

"Dude, don't worry. I'm sure it's gonna be fun. I've never done this before, and I'm not used to this kind of... activities, so I'll probably suck at it, but I'd like to at least give it a try."

"Cool! Alright then. First lesson: security, or 'how not to accidentally kill yourself or chop off your hand."

***

Eddy was definitely a nice guy, and a good teacher. He showed him the tools (" _it's a mallet, not a hammer_ ") and how he was supposed to use them (" _here, you put the wedge in the crack, a bit askew so it splits the wood easily_ "). But he definitely didn't want him to _chop_ anything right now.

"You gotta get used to the weight and the feeling of the wood before. It's really harder than it seems, and kinda dangerous. So it's better if you start with just piling up the logs in steres, like I showed you. I promise, I'll let you try the mallet today and the axe tomorrow. I'm sorry if it seems boring, though..."

Brett actually didn't find it boring. It was reassuring to know that he was doing it step by step, letting him get acquainted with the whole "chopping" thing before letting him do hard stuff.

Plus, he kinda liked to pile up the logs.

It was a repetitive task and it was more tiring than he thought, but it was super easy and he could let his mind wander as much as he wanted. They didn't talk while working (they couldn't do it even if they wanted to anyway, needing to save their breaths). The forest first only resonated with the sound of Eddy's axe, but Brett discovered soon that silence didn't exist in the woods.

The trees were rustling, the birds chirping, the wind murmured. Dead leaves cracked under his steps, and he couldn't help but trying to walk to the rhythm of Vivaldi's Autumn (and failing miserably, but who cared anyway?).

The sun showed up above the canopy and some rays found their way to the ground, their beautiful light giving an almost mystic atmosphere to this whole thing. They lighted up the logs, the ground, the leaves, the bushes, the tools... Eddy's bare upper body.

Brett really, _really_ tried not to look at it. He didn't want to be weird, but he also didn't want him to _suspect_ anything.

_(His father didn't know, after all. And it definitely wouldn't make things better if he knew.)_

But the sun kept teasing him, displaying patches of golden light on Eddy's shoulders, hands, muscles, chest, stomach... In a very artistic way.

He was glad he could put his red cheeks down on the effort, though.

Brett kinda started to like the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Author here... I hope you liked this.... I don't really know what to say (except that I actually miss walking in forests lmao), I just want to thank you for reading this, an maybe ask you for a comment to help me get better at this writing thing... Love you all! <3


End file.
